


Extra Credit

by Creme13rulee



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Ballet Dancer Katsuki Yuuri, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, College Hockey, Grad student Viktor, M/M, Pining Victor Nikiforov, a little bit of coffee shop au, bless viktors gay little heart, clumsy viktor nikiforov, lets see how far I can get with 0 angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2020-03-20 02:50:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18983695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creme13rulee/pseuds/Creme13rulee
Summary: College Hockey player Viktor Nikiforov is delivered an ultimatum: take a semester of ballet and get some grace on the ice , or be dropped from the team.  Viktor begrudgingly enrolls in Ballet 101, not expecting to fall heads over slippers for danseur TA Yuuri Katsuki. #blessdancetights





	1. Dance Tights

“Nikiforov. “Coach folded his hands in front of him, his mustachioed face grave. “This is the third injury this season.”

“Only third!” Viktor tried a charming smile.

“In as many games, boy. It’s painful to watch you. You’re a good player. But you hurt yourself in stupid ways.”

Sure. Maybe none of the injuries involved other players , and mainly dealt with viktor tripping over his own skates. But stupid ways ? 

“What are you saying, coach.” Viktor sighed. He had a paper to write for his thesis. He knew he was a special case — not many collegiate sports took athletes in their postgrad work. If this was bad news he wanted it over with. 

“I need you to get some grace boy. “ he slid a yellow post it note across the messy desk. “This is the add code. I got Baranovskaya to add you ahead of the waitlist. Go register and take the class, or you’re out. “

Viktor peered at the post it “Ballet?” He wrinkled his nose. 

The last place he wanted to be was the only man in a room full of tiny delicate women. Especially not when he spent most of his free time body checking other men into walls and making them eat ice. 

“Take it or leave it. I have plenty of freshmen with potential.”

“I’ll take it, sir.” Viktor said without looking up at his coach. 

—

Classes began the next week. Apparently the class was popular — the waitlist on the class catalogue was already full when viktor registered the night after the talk with his coach. 

When Viktor saw the face of Madame Baranovskaya, he wondered why. 

If he had bothered to google he would know that the program was tied to the Bolshoi, and that lilia was a world class dancer. The course Viktors university offered was the only chance for common folk to afford lessons with her. 

To Viktor, she was a severe looking older woman with a permanent frown. He felt underdressed even in his adidas tracksuit. Other pupils came dressed in leotards and leggings. A majority of them were female , but viktor was not alone. There was a nervous looking man clinging to his girlfriend, and another man viktor recognized from the community theatre posters around campus. 

And then there was Him. 

Viktor felt his gay heart skip a beat the second he saw him — gracefully stretching on the barre, his wonderfully sculpted ass in tight heather dance tights. 

“Katsky!” Madam Baranovskaya barked. The Boy was light on his feet, grace incarnate. His face was soft and round, his brown eyes warm and kind. He didn’t look Russian, or even half. But it didn’t matter.  
Viktor was so, so gay.

And this was dangerous.

Madam Baranovskaya jabbed a finger at Viktor. “This is the one I told you about.” 

Viktor started to sweat, smiling awkwardly when The Boy looked directly at him. Viktors brain spammed his panic button when he crossed the room.

“Um, Privet,” The boy smiled, his awkward charm enthralling. Viktor stared at his hand before taking it. His Russian was so...cute.

“My name is Yuuri. I’m one of Madam Baranovskaya’s assistants.” Yuuri let go of Viktor’s hand sooner than he wanted him to. “I’m here to help.” He smiled, and Viktor melted.

Thankfully, none of the other students got a personal introduction. As soon as Yuuri shook his hand, he returned to the front of the classroom and the class began. Apparently he was Yuuri Katsuki, not Katsky, and he was an international student from Japan. 

Who had studied ballet since he was four.

Viktor was so screwed.

But maybe he would get screwed in the other metaphorical way. It would be easy to flirt, considering Yuuri was in his corner of the studio often. Maybe he had to repeat first position a few times, as well as any other basics that Viktor missed, caught in a daydream of using that ballet danseur ass as a pillow.

At the end of the studio time Viktor was sweaty and his thighs ached. He went to the locker rooms to change-- he had one more class before practice later that evening. He grabbed his bag, thankful he had at least three outfits with him at all times. He changed quickly, smoothing his hair back before turning to the exit-- and tripping over something solid in the process. The banged into the doorway, before falling on top of said solid object, which let out an indignant ‘oof’.

“Ah, I’m sorry--” Viktor froze mid-scramble. He stared unabashedly.  
It was Yuuri, but it was not. Obviously it was, he had the same face and all. But his beautiful body was hidden under an oversized sweater and stiff jeans, his blue-framed glasses knocked askew on his face.

Studio Yuuri was a God.

Locker room Yuuri was a Nerd.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Viktor could feel himself turn borscht red, the tips of his ears burning. Yuuri just pushed his glasses back onto his face and swallowed back a grimace, his hand on his shoulder and the contents of his book bag scattered across the cement floor.

“It’s okay. Madam Lilia told me about you.” Yuuri replied, before he himself turned red. “I mean-- sorry-- not like that. Just that-- I heard-- that you’re not that graceful, and that’s why--”

“You’re right.” Viktor reached out, stopping himself when Yuuri leaned away from his touch. “Are you hurt?”

Yuuri scrambled to his knees, scooping his books back into his bag.

“Yuuri,” Viktor repeated. “Are you hurt?”

He froze, looking up at Viktor from under his bangs. “Say again?” His lips curled into a nervous smile.  
“Are...you.. Hurt?” Viktor frowned. He hadn’t made Yuuri hit his head, did he?

Yuuri mumbled to himself before his eyes lit up in realization. “Oh! No! I’m okay.” He returned to gathering his books.

“Can I help?” Viktor moved to grab the last of the books, his hand brushing Yuuri’s.

Yuuri withdrew, curling his fingers into his palm.  
“I have no idea what you’re saying.” Yuuri breathed, his eyes on their hands instead of Viktor. “I’ve been studying since I was ten, but everyone in Russia speaks so fast…”

“I know English.” Viktor offered, a pleasant feeling warming somewhere near his stomach at the sound of Yuuri’s sigh of relief. 

“I can understand you better in English for some reason,” Yuuri murmured, tucking his book into his bag. “You… um.. You did good today. I’ll see you at the lecture on thursday?”


	2. Coffee

“He’s gorgeous, Mila.” Viktor whined into his cappuccino. “Madame Baranovskaya had him and Sara, the other assistant, demonstrate what we’re expected to do by the final exam. I nearly died.”

Viktor had barely made it through the lecture-- led entirely by Yuuri, who went through a powerpoint and read right off his neatly written notebook. For some reason Yuuri didn’t wear his glasses during studio time. Somehow this made it even sexier-- blue was definitely was his color.  He even had shown up to lecture in dance tights-- regrettably covered in an oversized knit sweater-- but it was enough to give Viktor life.

 

“Maybe Georgi is right. You do need to get laid.” Mila stirred her earl gray tea absentmindedly.

 

“I wish. But I don’t even know if he’s gay. Or bi.” Viktor sighed

 

“Have you ever seen a straight boy wear tights?” Mila rolled her eyes. “Don’t ask me for proof, you know I’m not into guys.”

 

“There’s nothing on his instagram, and his Facebook is just a headshot.  Both locked down more than the Black Dolphin.” 

 

“ _ Hi, Viktor! _ ” 

 

Viktor jumped, knocking over his coffee. Mila squeaked indignantly. Yuuri flipped the paper cup back upright and pulled a rag from his apron.

 

“Oh.. Yuuri… No let me do that!” Viktor stuttered in English.

 

“No,no! It’s okay. It’s my job, and it’s my fault.”

 

“Oh my god Viktor.  He’s so tiny. You would snap him in half.” Mila gasped. Yuuri blinked, mopping up the spilled coffee.

 

“Break.. Who?” Yuuri asked. Viktor buried his face in his hands. Great.

 

“Mila.. this is Yuuri. He’s been studying Russian  since he was ten.” Viktor groaned.

 

“Oh.. sorry.. But… you’re just.. Half his size.” Mila gaped.  “There’s no way you could top.”

 

“No… I couldn’t be taller than him. I’m the tallest in my family though.” Yuuri answered, twisting the rag in his hands. “Um… sorry for bothering you.”

 

“No! No, not at all.” Viktor groaned. “I didn’t know you’d be here!”

 

Yuuri smiled awkwardly. “I work here on weekend mornings.”

 

“But you already teach… and train with Madam Baranovskaya… how do you have time?”

 

Yuuri was quiet, unsure how to answer  Viktor’s question.

 

“Have to pay for shoes somehow.” Yuuri shrugged.  “What did you have? I’ll make you a new one.”

  
  


“Mila,” Viktor growled as soon as Yuuri left. “It is only by the grace of God that I am not killing you where we stand.”

 

“Oh, then I guess you won’t be needing me to help you train?” Mila sang, fluttering her eyelashes as she took a sip of her tea.

 

“I’m not an ice skater.” Viktor said flatly. “Well. I skate. While playing hockey.”

 

Mila wrinkled her nose. “Please, don’t keep that act up with me.” She jabbed a finger at him. “I know. Your. Past.” 

 

Viktor frowned.

 

“I know puberty turned you from a bean pole to McBeefy and you have a complex---”

 

“I  _ do not--”  _

 

There were a lot of reasons why he left ice skating and turned to hockey. Many. None of which Viktor wanted to talk about at that moment.

 

“I also know that you’re going to be too busy being gay to actually learn ballet.” Mila smirked. She was right. Viktor knew this, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Hockey was playing a good portion of tuition too… he couldn’t fail the class.

 

“I’ll  practice with you before ice time on thursdays.” Mila chirped.

 

“What do you want in return?” Viktor looked nervously back toward the bar and registers.

 

“Nothing.”

 

Viktor frowned.

 

“Okay, okay. I want you to fall in love.” Mila laughed at the delicate expression Viktor wore-- shock, confusion, and thankfulness.

 

“Don’t get all mushy. This is self preservation. Maybe I’ll have time to date when I’m not entertaining you all the time.”

 

“Milaaa--” Viktor stopped short with the clink of a new cup and saucer in front of him.  

It was like receiving manna from heaven-- but it was coffee from a god.

 

“Enjoy,” Yuuri smiled.


	3. Game

Mila was right. Viktor struggled-- they barely started pirouettes on the barre  and he was already struggling. 

Viktor was trying to copy the student in front of him when Yuuri walked by.  Viktor’s foot caught in the leg of his tracksuit and he tripped over himself.

Instead of falling to the floor like a real man, Yuuri caught him around the waist.

Viktor nearly died on the spot-- beautiful and strong too.  That night he dreamed about spinning across the stage and jumping into Yuuri’s strong arms.

 

Viktor gained a new appreciation for sweaters-- it was all  Yuuri seemed to wear. Along with sweaters came a taste for coffee--- Viktor went every morning, just so it wasn’t weird when he showed up on saturday too.

 

Tragedy struck during week three studio time. Yuuri didn’t show up in his  usual skin-tight dance leggings and flowy shirt. They started class with Yuuri still in a chair in the front, a knee brace fastened over his sweatpants and glasses perched on his nose.  He spent the entire class taking notes from the front instead of making his usual rounds around the students.

 

Viktor found himself sticking around past the end of the class without meaning to.

 

“Are you okay?” Viktor blurted out, watching Yuuri stiffly gather his bag and  juggle his clipboard full of notes.

 

“What? Oh, uh, yes. It’s just a sprain-- one more off week and I’ll go back to practice.”  Viktor was too busy watching Yuuri’s lips move to notice the blush burning on his cheeks.

 

“You’re off?” Viktor blinked. “Friday?”

 

Yuuri nodded, slinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “Yes…”

 

“If… if you get bored, there’s a home game on friday. Hockey.”

 

“Okay. I’ll be there to cheer you on.”

 

Viktor’s heart nearly beat out of his chest. “Great. Great! I’ll get you a comp ticket? We have lecture still, right?”

 

Yuuri smiled and nodded.

 

Viktor was in trouble.

~

 

“Phichit, I’m screwed.” Yuuri groaned, belly flopping onto his dormroom bed. 

 

“Literally or figuratively?” Phichit looked up from his laptop where he continued to edit his latest vlog.

 

Yuuri narrowed his eyes. “Viktor invited me to watch him play hockey.”

 

Phichit’s hand stilled on his laptop. “Oh, honey.”

 

Yuuri sighed.

 

“We’ve been over this. Jocks are off limits.”

 

“But--”

 

“I’m not having my best friend’s delicate flower crushed by the hands of a jock.”

 

“Ice skating is a sport!” Yuuri grunted.

 

“And an art! More than those beefy hockey players grunting and smacking a tiny rock around between beating each other up.”

 

“You just don’t like sharing the ice with the hockey team.” Yuuri rolled onto his side.  “He’s not even that good, I think? He’s only in my class because his coach made him. Madame Lilia said he has no grace.”

 

“Does he?” Phichit looked over the top of his computer.

 

“No.” Yuuri laughed.

 

“But you think it’s cute.” Phichit said pointedly. “You  _ like _ him.”

 

Yuuri sighed. “It doesn’t matter what I think. If I get caught having a relationship with my students, I’ll get fired.  Expelled. Then it’s back to Japan with nothing to show.”

 

“So you’re going to watch him play hockey.”

 

“He invited me!”

 

“You can’t even see their asses because of all the padding.” Phichit scoffed.

 

“You’re not helping.” Yuuri sighed, opening the website of their university’s collegiate sports teams. 

 

The hockey uniform looked good on Viktor. Really good.

 

~

In the few days before the game Yuuri  practiced reading the Cyrillic of Viktor’s last name so he could follow him on the ice.   

Viktor gave him the ticket tucked into an envelope, stapled to his short essay on the history of ballet after that weeks lecture. It was only student admission, but Yuuri a got a good seat thanks to his anxiety-- he arrived half an hour early. But sitting in a rink was no problem-- he had spent half of his childhood and adolescence by the ice after all.

 

After his teams entrance Viktor found Yuuri in the stands easily-- he was at least half a head shorter and half the width of the surrounding audience and the only one not wearing a jersey of either the university or the local pro team.  Viktor heart fluttered when he noticed how nicely Yuuri was dressed-- as if it was a date. Definitely not appropriate for hockey, but his pale yellow button down and dark blue sweater vest was adorable. The kitten-eared black knit hat pulled over his ears was just icing on the cake.

 

Viktor grinned, pumping his arms when the crowd roared with applause at the first goal.  He knew they had hometown advantage-- and the other team liked to play dirty. But dirty didn’t take the Nikiforov Effect into account.

Unfortunately, said effect was not named after  Viktor’s father-- but rather the reason why he was sentenced to take ballet.

 

Viktor would never admit it, but this game it was not Nikiforov, but the Katsuki effect. Viktor was searching the crowd to find Yuuri in the second period when his feet flew out from underneath him. He scrambled to get his footing, swinging out his stick-- and coincidentally sweeping the puck from  the opposing team and under the right leg of the goalie.

 

The second part of his luck was purely Nikiforov however-- the ursurped player circled back to throw an angry left hook at Viktor’s jaw.

 

Chris was by his side in a second, body checking the other player in an instant. The crowd roared louder than they had at the first goal-- loud enough that  Viktor’s ears rang.

 

Yuuri was lost in the crowd when Viktor dodged a second hit, pulling back his arm to return the favor.  The period ran out, and the third one was uncontested-- they won.

 

Viktor skated to the edge of the ice as soon as the game was over, pulling out his helmet and summoning his suavest smile. 

 

“Yuuri! What did you think?” His smile faded at the terrified expression on Yuuri’s face. 

 

“You’re bleeding,” Yuuri said softly, raising his hand to point at the blood dribbling from Viktor’s nose.

 

“Nikiforov! Talk to your girlfriend later!”  Mikhail barked, skating toward the locker room. Mik didn’t see Yuuri’s mouth tighten, or his hand drop back to his side. 

 

“Good game,” Yuuri’s gaze dropped to his shoes, his fingers winding around the strap of his messenger bag. He handed Viktor a palm-sized pack of tissues.  “Thanks for telling me about it.” Yuuri waved, stepping back and folding himself into the crowd flowing out of the rink.

 

Viktor barely had time to think-- he stared at the packet of tissues-- brightly colored, one side printed in some foreign curlique language, and the other-- Viktor’s heart beat faster-- printed with a photo of a poodle.

 

~

 

“Next week is the midterm, and Madame Lilia wanted to make sure that everyone knew about Office hours  to help prepare for the exams… “ Yuuri read off his paper script the next week. He had remained polite but distant at studio time and professional during lecture. “Sara and I are both available to help with practical skills, and the written exam will cover everything until chapter seven…” Yuuri pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat.

 

“Um, Sara and I will be competing this weekend at The Theatre, and since Sara is offering extra credit for attending to her section, I guess I have to too.” Yuuri didn’t sound too excited about it.  “It’s contemporary, not ballet, but the fundamentals of dance… um...yeah. That’s all for tonight.”

 

Viktor immediately went for his phone, writing out a text to Christophe. ‘The Theatre. Saturday. Please?’

Christophe replied with a peach emoji, which was the closest to a ‘yes’ Viktor would ever get.


	4. Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Sara's dance is based off of this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-q6CQAppxSU

Viktor planned three outfits and spent four hours deciding which one made him look the most boyfriend-material-I-belong-here while still highlighting his butt. The Theatre was a newly refurbished movie-theatre-turned-bar that still used the original seats in the lounge. It was where all the theatre kids went, along with anyone interested in watching whatever happened on the stage. Viktor knew this from obsessively googling this the second class ended on the night Yuuri invited him. Well, invited him and the entire class… but details, details.

Chris hummed in approval when he arrived at Viktor’s apartment an hour before doors opened.   
“Simple and elegant.” Chris looked Viktor up and down-- it was only his tightest pair of dark wash jeans with a dark V-neck shirt… but it was a look that took hours to perfect.

“We’re early, mon-ami.” Chris hummed. He had been agreeable so far-- listening to Viktor fret, holding his chapstick for him in the uber.

“Oh...well… a drink?” Viktor fidgeted-- the walls were covered in red curtains, the velour theatre seats chopped up and rearranged to a more fluid floor plan.

“Viktor! Hi!” Yuuri called from a side door. Viktor felt his heart beat out of his chest, but he only had enough mind to slap Chris’ stomach in reply to his low appreciative cat call.

Yuuri was rain to his dying crops, an angel on earth. Yuuri also was way more naked than Viktor had ever seen him before. Most of his costume was a long white dress shirt, the tails just long enough to meet the hem of his dance shorts. Which, if Viktor didn’t know any better, barely qualified at booty shorts. (Viktor wasn’t going to complain. Ever.)

“Yuuri!” Viktor smiled, waving as he walked over, the other TA Sara close behind. She was wearing a peach knit dress that hung off one of her shoulders, her hair curled and loose around her shoulders. They both had #10 printed in bold black letters on a label stuck to their chests, a matching pair.

“Oh, wow! Are you two dating?” Chris cooed evocatively.

Sara and Yuuri looked at each other, before awkwardly shaking their heads at the same time. 

“We have.. Other interests.” Sara shrugged. “We’re a great match height-wise! Yuuri’s a total sweetheart!” Sara grinned, patting Yuuri’s back as he blushed. 

“Oh… so you’re single, Yuuri?” Chris blinked his wide eyes. 

Yuuri flustered, looking toward Sara expectantly.

“Sorry Yuuri-- this is my friend-- maybe not for much longer-- Christophe.” Viktor finally found his voice. At least until he let his gaze wander again.

“Oh. Okay.” Yuuri seemed to relax. “I’m glad you could make it.”

Before Chris could dig his grave any deeper, there was a shout from backstage, and Sara and Yuuri said their goodbyes before speedwalking back to the green room.

Viktor settled with a glass of vodka-- he needed something strong to get himself through ten couples before seeing Yuuri in all his naked-leg glory.

Viktor did not know what he was expecting, but it was not what Sara and Mila delivered. It was raw and powerful-- some sort of story set to a popular song Viktor remembered being part of a campaign against domestic abuse. Yuuri, so soft and sweet, moved smoothly, tugging and throwing and catching Sara as if she was nothing. He knew no hands connected, but the exaggerated movements made emotion well up past Viktor’s throat. Sara climbed Yuuri easily, and he moved effortlessly with her on his shoulders until they tumbled together, moving until in seconds, their clothing twisted into a vicious knot with one simple tug.

Chris chuckled. Viktor hoped the dying animal squealing noise that escaped him didn’t carry to the stage. Where Yuuri was, shirtless, holding a tied bundle of clothing and bowing toward the judges as he tried to catch his breath.

Viktor found himself on his feet, clapping his hands with most of the other patrons. Yuuri’s eyes scanned the crowd, and Viktor froze when they met his and Yuuri smiled.

He had to do it.

Viktor waited until the last couple danced, the judges deliberating painfully. Viktor felt his nails digging into his palm when the finalists were asked to step forward. He could see Yuuri’s hands shaking from the audience, even though he stood perfectly on the stage.

Viktor watched the twinge of dissapointment in his eyes as he and Sara were called for second place.

Most other students from ballet left as soon as the night was over, not taking the time to greet Sara and Yuuri or wait until they were done taking photos.

Viktor did, clutching his glass, watching the ice melt until Yuuri stepped off the stage.

“Congratulations, Yuuri. It was beautiful.” Viktor swallowed nervously. Sara was holding a bouquet of flowers, and Yuuri held a black folder and a small trophy. 

“Thank you, Viktor,” Yuuri smiled, looking a little less melancholy.

Viktor had to do it.

“Can I take you out to dinner?” The drink in his hands sloshed as he moved, offering his most charming smile.

Yuuri’s smile dropped.

“A drink, maybe?” Viktor offered. Chris rested a hand on his shoulder- for comfort, maybe. Viktor didn’t know.

All he heard was Yuuri saying ‘No’, before a familiar face pulled him back to the stage.

Yakov was here, and Yuuri had said no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made it 3 chapters before angst


	5. Fire

Viktor downed the rest of his drink, setting it on the last table before the door. Chris followed him-- they had been partners in misery before. They went way back-- back far enough that he knew what Yakov meant to Viktor.

 

“Let’s get some food in you,” Chris said once they were outside of the Theatre.

 

“I don’t feel like being out,” Viktor answered flatly. 

“The uber will be here in three minutes,” Chris hummed. 

 

“I’m not hungry.” Viktor grunted, turning to look down the street instead. He didn’t want to fight. He wasn’t that kind of man.  He wasn’t going to go back and cry about a crush on a ballet dancer. 

It was stupid to ask and stupid to get his hopes up. Why would Yuuri be interested in him anyway? A bulky, violent sports player with not an ounce of grace in his hulking oversized body.

 

“Viktor. Please.” Chris rested his hand on his shoulder.  “It’s okay. Yakov didn’t see you.”

 

Viktor’s mouth dropped open.

 

“He didn’t. He was there for Yuuri.”

 

“Is he a skater?” Chris’ question was guarded. He knew how badly that part of his life had ended, and who had a role in it.

 

Dating Ballet dancers was safe. Skaters were dangerous.

 

“No. I don’t think?” Viktor sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

 

Chris dragged him to a mom and pop diner, which worked out because the bossy woman decided their dinner for them. Which worked great,because all Viktor wanted to do was avoid thinking.

 

“We’re going to the Firehouse.” Chris said matter of factly when they paid their bill.

 

“Chris, I’m going home. I am fine.”

 

“You may be, but I have a craving for some good dick.” Chris shot back. Viktor doubted it, but Chris knew how to back him into a friendly corner. 

 

  
“One drink.” Viktor sighed. He knew why they were in this part of town then: ulterior motives. They walked together to the club-- host to flaming homosexuals and with plenty of poles on the dance floor.

 

“My treat.” Chris wound his arm around Viktor’s middle and walked with him the few blocks to the bar.

 

Viktor had his martini in his hand for a whole five minutes before he spilled it down his shirt.

 

“Merde,” Chris hissed, entranced by tan thighs twirling around one of the poles. A long, white-sleeved arm arced delicately in the air.

 

Yuuri.

 

He was still in his dance costume, plus a pair of worn blue sneakers, one of which had dissapeared off his foot. He twisted, his back arcing and the shirt riding up over his flat stomach before he somersaulted to the ground. 

 

“Viktor!” Yuuri cooed,hopping onto his feet, his amber eyes sparkling. “Hi!”

 

Viktor choked, even with most of his drink soaking into his tshirt. “Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri’s cheek pressed into Viktor’s collarbone as Yuuri hugged him.

 

“Oh honey,” Chris pushed Yuuri back a step. He stumbled but remained just as bright and smiley as he had when he approached. “How much have you had to drink?”

 

Yuuri looked down at his hands, slowly counting off on his fingers, putting up one finger, three, five then seven with some difficulty. “...fourteen?” Yuuri tilted his head.  

 

Viktor gaped. “Yuuri… are you okay?”

 

“No!” Yuuri said exuberantly. “Everything sucks!” Yuuri smiled, taking a plastic cup from an older Russian man passing by , waving flirtatiously.

 

“Yuuri!” Viktor snatched the drink before he could tilt it fully to his lips.  “What are you doing?”

 

Yuuri looked at  Viktor tragically. It reminded him achingly of the look Makkachin gave him when he left her for the day.

 

“You can’t just get drinks from anywhere. You should only get them directly from the bartender. St. Petersburg is a big city, there’s a lot of unsavory people--”

 

“Okay, okay.” Yuuri tapped his fingers on Viktor’s bottom lip.  The entire vocabulary of all three languages Viktor knew immediately vanished.

 

This wasn’t like Yuuri at all. Which was bad news-- even if the fourteen drinks was off, he was definitely in the black-out stage. 

 

Or close to it. It was hard to think with Yuuri’s body pressed against his. 

 

“Chris. I’m going to make sure he gets home safe.” Viktor found enough words, before he took Yuuri’s hand in his.  “Yuuri, can you tell me where your apartment is?”

 

“Apaato? A...apart…” Yuuri hummed, preoccupied with running his fingers over the back of Viktor’s hand. At least he was following Viktor out of the bar.

 

“Okay. Plan B. Can I see your phone?”

 

Yuuri plucked it out of the waistband of his shorts, handing it over too willingly.

 

Viktor managed to get Yuuri to unlock it, only to reach another dead end. Yuuri’s iphone was set to Japanese, the string of foreign symbols indecipherable.

 

“Hey Siri, navigate home,” Viktor tried his best to focus and enunciate as Yuuri played with his hair. Even when his fingers sent shivers down Viktor’s very gay spine and warm feelings pooled in his stomach.

 

“Yuuri.” Viktor regrettably pulled his TA’s hands from his head. “I can’t find out where you live. I’m going to bring you to my place-- it’s probably closer. Are you okay with dogs?”

 

Yuuri’s face lit up. Viktor tried to focus on his own phone, trying to blink away the image that twisted the knife of rejection in his heart.

 

He really wish he didn’t have to deal with how sweet Yuuri was after what happened.

 

He really wish he didn’t have to enjoy Yuuri falling asleep on his shoulder on the drive back to Viktor’s apartment. Or how light and warm he was in his arms when Viktor carried him up to his apartment. That he didn’t enjoy the soft noises Yuuri made in his sleep.

 

Viktor struggled, but managed to open his door with Yuuri in his arms.

 

“Oop! Down girl, hey girl! Shhhh!” Viktor tried to avoid Makkachin’s happy leaps the second he opened the door. But it was pointless-- and everyday of his life Viktor had wanted it.

 

Yuuri woke up, red lines on his thighs from Makkachin’s eager scratching.

 

“A baby!” Yuuri cooed, slipping out of Viktor’s arms and melting to the floor like putty. He scratched Makka’s favorite spot, cuddling her even though she easily weighed just as much as he did.

 

Viktor watched, giving Yuuri the space he obviously wanted when he was sober, until Makka looked up and whined softly. Yuuri was dozing, his head resting on Makkachin’s neck.

 

Viktor carefully extricated Yuuri, carrying him to his bedroom. He could handle sleeping on the couch tonight, even though his bed was large enough for three. They had another month of classes to face in the morning, and enough to explain without crossing boundaries.

 

He tucked Yuuri in, making sure he wouldn’t twist out of the sheets and wake up in a chill. He set a soup bowl on the nightstand just in case, along with a glass of water and his bottle of ibuprofen.

 

Makkachin watched, always a good girl, following her master to the couch and curling up with him when he settled in for the night.

 

~

 

Viktor rose before Yuuri did. He showered and dressed carefully, but Yuuri showed no signs of stirring until past ten o clock. Only then, it was only after Makkachin licked at his cheeks in concern.

 

Viktor left the kitchen at Makkachin’s delighted bark, opening the door to see Yuuri rise from the bed like a zombie from the grave. He squinted, slowly gaining his bearings, panic draining the color from his face.

He immediately went for his phone, which Viktor had plugged into his usual spot on the nightstand the night before.

 

“Good morning.” Viktor spoke, not wanting to delay any longer and scare Yuuri any more. His head jerked up, his eyes widening into abject horror.

 

“Oh god.. I’m a horrible person…” Yuuri’s voice trembled, his phone dropping from his hands onto the mattress. He covered his face with his hands.

 

“I disagree. You probably feel terrible, but you didn’t do much except drink. I promise.”

 

“Viktor--” Yuuri’s voice was teary.

 

“We can talk after you’ve woken up and eaten.” Viktor forced a smile. “I’m sorry Makka woke you up.”

 

Yuuri looked at the poodle between his fingers. He smiled, forgetting himself a second when she jumped onto his lap and showered his face with kisses.  Viktor stepped into the room, handing Yuuri the glass of water and pill bottle. Yuuri averted his gaze, a soft flush on his cheeks when he took the offering.

 

“I don’t deserve your kindness…” Yuuri said softly.

 

Viktor didn’t know what to say. Instead, he watched Yuuri down half the glass of water, his free hand tightening in the sheets.

 

“I don’t understand. You just said no.”

 

Yuuri blinked rapidly, focusing on the bedsheets instead of Viktor.

 

“I didn’t want to.” Yuuri’s voice shook, fat teardrops falling onto Yuuri’s lap.

 

Viktor panicked-- he didn’t deal well with crying. He didn’t know what to do. Did he even own tissues?

 

What did Yuuri even  _ mean? _

 

“I’m not going to ask for a date in return for keeping you safe.” Viktor  shrugged. “I like you , but you don’t--”

 

“No!” Yuuri snapped, scrubbing at his face with the back of his hands. “I do. I do! I like you. I really like you!”

 

Before he knew it, Yuuri was on his knees, his arms wrapped in a tight hug around Viktor’s chest.

 

“But-- you said no?”

 

Yuuri sniffled.  It felt right-- so perfect, Yuuri soft and warm and strong. Holding Viktor in the exact way he craved.

 

“I can’t date you. If the university finds out I’m violating the Ethics code, I’ll get fired. I’ll have to go back to Japan as a failure.”

 

A tiny ember of hope sparked to life.

 

“Then they won’t find out.”

 

Yuuri drew back, finally meeting Viktor’s eyes.  “What?”

 

“We’ll keep it secret. There’s only five weeks left of class. I just want one dinner… after that… its up to you if you want to keep going.”

 

“But--”

 

“I’m  twenty-six. More than capable of keeping a secret.”


	6. Rink

 

Viktor felt blessed. Blessed that he got to watch Yuuri brush his teeth in his bathroom with the  sample kit from his dentist. Blessed to see Yuuri sit at the bar in his kitchen, scratching the head of his poodle as she pawed at his lap.

 

Viktor set down a plate in front of Yuuri before sliding over the saucer next to it. Yuuri flushed, his eyes widening at the dish in front of him. Was it too extra? Chris said he was too extra. Viktor didn’t know what that meant and whether it was good or bad.

 

“Sorry… I figured you’d want carbs.., I have a weakness for american style pancakes..” Viktor smiled sheepishly. Maybe chocolate chip pancakes, eggs, AND cut fruit was too much.  Maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe he should have waited before making Makkachin her own plate of pancakes and cut strawberries. But that would just be cruel-- it was their tradition. Yuuri was just a new addition to it.

 

“Oh my god, I love you,” Yuuri gasped, making a obscene noise with his first bite. “I lived in America for a while. I missed  IHOP.”

 

Viktor couldn’t help but stare, trying not to make his heart flutter. Yuuri didn’t mean it. He didn’t. They barely knew each other!

 

“America?”  Viktor practically melted when Yuuri noticed Makkachin standing at the counter, trying desperately to reach her plate. Yuuri fed her by hand,  scratching her head after giving her a tiny pancake.

 

“Minako-sensei got hired for the New York City Ballet for a season. I went in highschool to improve my English.” 

 

“But you’re in Russia for college?”

 

Yuuri stared down at his place, nodding shyly. “I...it’s been my dream to be part of the  Mariinsky troupe…”

 

“Wow,” Viktor leaned in closer, using Makkachin as an excuse to get closer to Yuuri. He fed her another pancake, ignoring his own plate. “You work for Professor Baranovskaya though, right? So she can recommend you?”

 

Yuuri chewed thoughtfully, poking at the food on his plate. “She’s hard to please… and she doesn’t recommend just anyone.  I have to be better. There’s never been a foreigner in the troupe since its founding.”

 

“I’ve seen you, though. You’re… your work is beautiful.” Viktor smiled at the flush on Yuuri’s cheeks. “You’re probably the best in Japan. Why Russia?”

 

Yuuri swallowed, his cheeks burning a deeper shade of pink. “I’ve always wanted to go to Russia.. One way or the other… since I was ten.”

 

They sat in silence for a while, Yuuri offering nothing more on the subject.

 

“Thank you,” Yuuri cleared his throat. “For...everything.”

 

“Of course,” Viktor blinked. “It’s the least I can do.”

 

“Can… can dinner be tonight?” Yuuri looked up to meet Viktor’s eyes, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. Viktor’s spirit soared.

 

“Yeah! I…” Viktor turned, his smile falling when he looked at his calendar. “...have… practice.” His shoulders slumped along with his tone. He frowned, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “We could go skate?”

 

~~

 

Viktor’s feet bounced restlessly. Yuuri had gone home a few hours before-- his dance bag and glasses had found their way back to his apartment, and despite Viktor liking it, booty shorts and a button down was not appropriate skate wear.  Viktor waited in front of the rink, dreaming about wrapping Yuuri in his scarf and drinking hot cocoa with him. Before Viktor had to get padded up and sweaty during practice.

 

Viktor’s heart lifted and he jumped to his feet when he saw Yuuri jogging down from the bus stop. He was just wearing leggings and a thickly knit cardigan, his glasses perched back on his nose.

 

“Yuuri!” Viktor waved, floating happily at the smile that appeared on his face when Yuuri heard him.

 

“Hi,” Yuuri blushed up at him, fingers playing with the straps of his backpack.

 

“Hi,” Viktor smiled, feeling his own cheeks warm. “I--I got a rental ticket… I didn’t know if you’d want skating or hockey blades…”

 

“Oh, sorry-- I… I brought my own.” Yuuri flushed. 

God. Yuuri was perfect.

 

Viktor held the door open for Yuuri, sitting down on the bench in the main hall of the rink.  He wasn’t the tallest or the heaviest on the team, but he felt huge when Yuuri pulled out his skates. He was several sizes smaller than Viktor’s, the black leather well loved.

 

“You skate?” Viktor asked without thinking. He knew the JSF logo well-- it had been the host of several competitions in his junior years.

 

“Sometimes,” Yuuri blushed, lacing up his skates without even looking. “My best friend growing up skated, and my roommate does too.”

 

Viktor led Yuuri to the ice, stepping onto it first. He held out his hands, expecting to help Yuuri onto the slippery surface. But Yuuri stepped onto it like nothing-- not like someone who skated only sometimes.  His arms lifted from his sides, his hands poised gracefully and delicately in the air as he skated backwards in a slow circle.

 

“Wow, Yuuri. You’re a natural.” Viktor breathed, watching Yuuri trace a compulsory figure on one foot. Yuuri’s head jerked up, and he flushed. “S-s-sorry. This was supposed to be romantic, wasn’t it?” He slid forward, holding out his hand before withdrawing it, looking around the rink nervously.

 

“Don’t worry. I just want some time with you,” Viktor offered an easy smile. They traced the perimeter of the rink, side by side.  During their second lap, Yuuri skated a little ahead, tracing patterns like lace into the ice as Viktor followed, amazed.

 

A smile spread on Yuuri’s face-- a private one, one Viktor had never seen before. One that wasn’t meant for anyone else.

 

A lump rose in Viktor’s throat the moment Yuuri stepped into a jump. He knew how to felt to prepare for one-- the lift, the flying and flip in his stomach when his feet hit the ice again.

  
  


Yuuri spun-- maybe  a triple, but he fell out of it, landing on his butt and sliding across the ice.

Viktor skated forward, alarmed, but Yuuri was delighted, laughing and hopping back to his feet like it was nothing.

 

“You lied,” Viktor babbled, the smile falling from Yuuri’s lips instantly.  “You’re a skater. You know Yakov.” Viktor pulled a hand through his hair, biting his bottom lip.

 

Yuuri’s gaze dropped to the ice. “I  _ was  _  a skater.” His voice was low. Delicate.

 

“Why did you stop?” Viktor winced as Yuuri skated back, away from him.

 

“I think you need to practice,” Yuuri said quietly, before turning his back and crossing the ice to the boards.

 

“Yuuri--wait!” Viktor called out too late. He followed after Yuuri-- his shoulders shaking as he fell onto a bench and yanked off his skates.

 

“I’m  sorry.” Viktor stood next to the bench, taller with his skates still on. Yuuri focused on his shoes, pulling the laces out roughly. He was still shaking-- his teeth fighting the chatter as Yuuri ground his teeth.  Viktor pulled his arms out of sleeves, draping the shoulders of his wool coat over Yuuri’s back. He swam in it, the hem that brushed mid-thigh on Viktor past Yuuri’s knees when he stood, cheeks red.

 

“It’s not your fault.” Yuuri mumbled, his hand wringing , his fingers working on his palms. Viktor couldn’t push-- not with something that affected Yuuri this much.

 

“It’s stupid.” Yuuri’s voice rose, his chest rising and falling quickly. Viktor opened his mouth to protest, but Yuuri spoke before he did.

 

“I competed in Junior’s... but then I realized I was chasing after something I couldn’t reach. Then the rink in my hometown closed down.. And I… lost my inspiration.”

 

Yuuri was still in college, which meant that Juniors could have been fairly recent-- two or five years. It was hard to tell with Yuuri’s soft cheeks.

 

Viktor nodded. His stomach flipped-- he knew how Yuuri felt all too well. Yubileyny had never closed down.  But Viktor had lost himself-- lost who he was when he hit fifteen and his body changed into something bigger and uglier than he wanted.

He had left skating too. But he didn’t have an excuse outside of himself.

 

“You were beautiful.” Viktor swallowed. Yuuri blushed, pulling Viktor’s jacket closer around him, shyly.

 

“I fell. It’s not my place anymore,” Yuuri shrugged.

 

Viktor worried his bottom lip. This was turning into a disaster.  “Can we try this again?”

 

Yuuri’s eyes flickered behind Viktor to the rink, unsure.

 

“Dinner. A date. Somewhere comfortable.” 

 

Yuuri smiled softly, still keeping his eyes on the ground. “I’d like that.”


	7. A new job

The date never happened. Between midterms, and an away game, the most Viktor got was a few text messages. He had already seen how far Yuuri had fled when he had pushed-- and he was nervous about trying again.

Viktor had fridays off-- set for his thesis work that he didn’t really need until the next term. He had resigned himself to spending the time on the floor of his apartment, petting his dog and being a lonely bachelor-- until his phone pinged.

Yuuri had sent a picture of a poodle underneath a pile of papers. It was the cutest thing Viktor had ever seen. Well, the cutest thing from a guy Viktor had ever seen. He sighed wistfully, clutching his iphone to his chest. He lifted it to type out a message to Yuuri without thinking about it.

Look like you need a break. Lunch on the quad?

Viktor panicked, his heart in his throat when Yuuri replied with a ‘sure’. He quickly shot back a time, giving himself an hour to get his shit together. He changed and brushed his hair again, leaving his apartment to go shopping only to double back to grab a bag and picnic blanket to carry food in. Viktor Nikiforov would not show up to a date carrying plastic bags after all.

Viktor ended up will a small selection of water crackers and cheeses along with a bottle of sparkling waters. Enough of a treat without losing protein entirely. He ran onto the quad-- the brick square surrounded by four buildings-- two minutes after the planned time. He saw Yuuri from the opposite side of the square-- the pace of his heart picking up when he saw his skinny legs, his arms and torso wrapped in the coat Viktor had worn skating. It was long on him-- the sleeves covering half of his hands-- but with the scarf wrapped around his neck, it didn’t look oversized.

Yuuri waved, smiling shyly when he spotted Viktor. “It looks like you were planning on a picnic.” He commented, taking in the blanket hanging out of Viktor’s bag.

Viktor was silent, looking at it himself.

“Viktor,” Yuuri laughed. “It’s late january.” 

“The floors are hard at this school.” Viktor answered robotically, trying to smooth his hair down nervously.

“Thank you, “Yuuri murmured, his nose burning pink. It was nice to text with Yuuri, but even nicer to talk in person. Conversation came easily, especially when Yuuri talked about his time in the ballet studio. Knowing French had helped Viktor understand the vocabulary, but he really needed it while trying to focus after being distracted by Yuuri’s passion for the topic and his cute accent.

“I was assigned cavalier, and understudy for the principal cavalier, but because it’s a collaboration with two different studios, I haven’t even practiced with the dancer-- I spent four hours doing pirouettes in second. I’m still not even sure if its to standards.” Yuuri rambled, his back to the wall of the stairwell Viktor had found them after realizing his unrealistic planning. 

“I think you’re up to standards.” Viktor watched Yuuri’s lips nibble around a slice of sharp cheddar.

“No offense, but your frame of reference is a 101 class with a guy who can’t spell ballet right.” Yuuri muttered, before flustering. “I mean...Thank you.”

Viktor smiled. If Yuuri was this comfortable with him, it was a gift.

~

Viktor arrived to studio time twenty minutes early, bouncing on his heels and excited to even be in the same room as Yuuri was again. Viktor hadn’t brought up the jacket thing, and neither had Yuuri. Viktor was quite honestly hoping that Yuuri would be wearing it to class, even though he would have to change into different clothing for studio time.

But his dream was not in the cards-- when he arrived, the studio was already occupied-- Yuuri spinning on his toes, pulled straight up like a spring, his arms long and delicate and Madam Baranovskaya barked out orders in french. Yuuri followed them perfectly-- plie, chatte, sissonne fermée! Yuuri followed the movements perfectly, bending and straightening and floating through the air gracefully. Yuuri only stopped when Lilia stopped talking, her eyes snapping to Viktor. He didn’t miss the smile that flashed across Yuuri’s face before he tucked it away, straightening his back and assuming his role as if it was a part.

“Nikiforov. About time you came for extra practice.” Baranovskaya barked. Viktor nodded wordlessly, dropping his bag in the corner. “Katsuki! Make sure he knows his ront de jambe.”

“Yes, Madame,” Yuuri said cooly, moving across the room to join Viktor on the barre. Yuuri stood nearby, flustering abnormally when Viktor walked closer.   
“You need to stretch,” Yuuri hissed, lifting his leg in a straight line and modeling what Lilia wanted. Which was good, because Viktor was noticing that Yuuri’s dance tights were a lighter color today, which was very nice.

“Oh.. Yeah.” Viktor stuttered, trying his best to stretch correctly under the eyes of his crush and his exiled-coaches’ wife. 

It was even harder to concentrate when Yuuri’s hand slipped under his calf and lifted it higher, or when his hand ran up his spine in a simple reminder to stand taller.

“Okay. Last step for tonight-- Katsuki will demonstrate a pirouette. Watch his feet.”

Yuuri worked his way to the front of the room, stepping into second position, controlling himself enough that he seemed to move in slow motion.

“Again.” Lilia barked, and Yuuri went faster-- the natural speed Viktor had watched before class had begun.

Yuuri stepped out of the spin, stumbling forward.

“Katsuki!” Madam Baranovskaya sounded deeply offended-- but she only had enough time before Yuuri swayed on his feet and fell to the polished wood floor.

Viktor pushed forward past the couple, bruising his knees as he fell to them-- the class had gasped, but only watched as their teacher had fainted. 

“Ten minute break!” Madam Baranovskaya clapped when the crowd pressed closer. Viktor turned Yuuri-- bright red leaking from his nostrils, his eyelashes fluttering. “Out!”

“Yuuri! Blyad, Yuuri, are you okay?” Viktor kept his hands hovering near Yuuri as he sat up slowly, looking dazed.

“Huh?” He made a soft sound, pressing his hand to his nose and peering at the blood curiously.

“Katsuki. I suspected this would happen. When did you last eat?” Madam Baranovskaya was suddenly next to Viktor, softer looking when she sat on the floor.

“Uh…” Yuuri thought for too long. He flushed, curling his hands in his lap. “Friday.”

Lilia clicked her tongue dissaprovingly. “You won’t make it to the stage skipping meals, Katsuki.”

“I’m not… I’m just… I’ve been busy.” Yuuri mumbled, blood dropping from his upper lip and onto his soft tshirt.

“I stand by what I said. Go home. I don’t want you into the studio until you are healthy.”

“But--”

“Nikiforov. Make sure this boy listens to me, will you?” Madam Baranovskaya didn’t even look at Viktor, but he didn’t need to be asked twice.

“Should I bring him to the hospital?”

“No!” Yuuri squeaked. “No-- I’m fine… I’ll just go home and eat!”

“With Nikiforov.” Lilia commanded.

Yuuri’s cheeks were still burning hot halfway to the student apartments. He had brought Viktor’s coat to the studio, but Viktor was too busy being worried to get excited about the coat.

“It’s okay. Really.” Yuuri repeated when they reached his doorstep.

“I promised.” Viktor braced Yuuri’s small shoulder. “Please. Let me help?” Yuuri’s hands shook from low blood pressure, his key scraping the lock rather than opening it. 

“Yuuri… you’re very tense…” Viktor paused, his hand smoothing down his back, only to earn a soft gasp from Yuuri.

“Hm?” Viktor almost withdrew, but Yuuri ended up pushing his weight back into his hand. 

“Can I help you relax? I’ve been trained in sports massage…” Viktor wasn’t sure if there was a point in acting-- Yuuri wasn’t very touchy outside of the studio. But he nodded softly.

“I’ll order something for dinner?” Yuuri pulled out his cellphone, letting Viktor into the apartment. It was smaller-- definitely met for younger people-- but it was cozy. Textbooks piled up, the smell of sawdust and sweaters. There was a hamster cage instead of a TV, but the main room felt comfortably Yuuri.

Viktor led Yuuri to the couch, working his hands into Yuuri’s shoulders. He relished the soft noises Yuuri made-- how he gradually melted into Viktor’s touch.  
Viktor’s hand skimmed the work on Yuuri’s legs-- particularly his calves before he stopped.

“Yuuri…” Viktor found himself purring. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this,”

“Wha-what?” Yuuri sputtered and looked up from his phone. He was hard- impressively so-- even through his sweatpants.

“Can I help you?” Viktor asked, feeling his own cheeks burn hot. “With… you know.”

Yuuri stared at him like a deer in the headlights.

“Please?” Viktor tried his sweetest smile, trying not to internally freak out. “I...I’m not carrying anything, but I’m good with my hands..”

Yuuri stared at Viktor, his eyes wide, before he nodded wordlessly.

“Stand up,” Viktor asked, wincing at how harsh Madam Baranovskaya had been. “Please.”

Viktor stood behind Yuuri, pushing his sweatpants down to his knees. He ran his fingers around the circumfrence of Yuuri’s hips-- pressed back against his, they didn’t match like other partners had. Yuuri was small enough that Viktor’s hands had to rest on his hips in order to match perfectly-- he fit entirely within Viktor.

“Any tension is bad to keep in,” Viktor breathed, pulling Yuuri from his boxer-briefs. Yuuri’s ass pressed back into Viktor’s front, Yuuri’s hands slipping down Viktor’s body blindly.

“I--I don’t know what I’m doing,” Yuuri stuttered as Viktor slid his hand down his length, his thumb rubbing the tip of it lovingly.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Viktor breathed into Yuuri’s ears, relishing the full-body shiver he earned from Yuuri.

“I mean-- I don’t know… I’ve never…” Yuuri lost his words to a gasp, his stomach curling as Viktor’s hands worked him. Yuuri was folding in half, and Viktor bent with him, snaking his free arm under Yuuri to hold him up against his stomach.

Yuuri dropped his phone to the thankfully-carpeted floor with a louder gasp-- Viktor could feel Yuuri grow fuller in his hands.  
“Shh… I’ve got you..” Viktor whispered, trying to ignore his logical brain and how stupid he was-- but how well this was working out. Yuuri went weak-kneed at his voice, a luscious moan escaping from his lips.

“Bed?” Viktor offered, Yuuri’s entire weight-- every beautiful curved pressed against him.

“Mmm--” Yuuri hummed, too languid to protest when Viktor lifted himself onto his feet. “Don’t stop.”

Yuuri pointed at the correct door-- the room was nice-- a few potted plants, a dark blue comforter, but not much else. The bed was the only thing that mattered now. Viktor laid him down on it, smoothing out the pearl of pre-cum down Yuuri’s length as he laid sprawled out on the bed. He looked like a feast-- his thighs strong but soft, a creamier color than his face and hands. Viktor rested a hand on one of Yuuri’s thighs with wonder, suddenly embarassed when he looked up to see Yuuri staring at him as if he was a god.

“What do you like?” Viktor knelt on the edge of the bed, still using his hand to wind Yuuri up. “Hard? Soft?” Viktor frowned, repeating himself in his mother tongue.

“I---I don’t know,” Yuuri’s breath caught in his throat. “Ah--”

Words dissolved on his tongue, his breaths coming quickly. Yuuri’s eyes squeezed closed. 

“Ah, you kitten. Russian?” Viktor asked, laughing when his Russian made Yuuri’s hips buck up eagerly and his stomach tighten.

“How lucky we are, “ Victor continued, working his hands over Yuuri and rambling in Russian until Yuuri’s toes curled and his back arched in orgasm. Viktor tucked his shirt up so that he didn’t spill onto it-- the smooth plain of Yuuri’s stomach reminding him that they had yet to eat anything.

“I’ll clean you up and fetch dinner if thats alright?” Viktor leaned forward, Yuuri’s eyelids heavy and flushed in the flood of endorphins.

“Mmmmm.” Yuuri sounded as positive as he could, laid out and ruined on his bed.

Viktor returned with a warm washcloth, using it on Yuuri and trying his hardest to ignore himself for the moment.

The doorbell rang the moment Viktor made it to the kitchen--- the delivery driver handing over a bag of styrofoam containers without a word.

“Ah.. well, here you are..” Viktor brought the food into Yuuri’s bedroom. 

“Viktor…” Yuuri looked up at Viktor from the bed with a look that made it hard for Viktor to concentrate. “Stay?” Yuuri’s hand brushed Viktor’s cheek lightly.

“For you? Anything,” Viktor blushed, even more once he heard himself talk.

Yuuri patted the matress, worming his way to the side until there was barely enough room for Viktor. 

“I like you, Viktor…” Yuuri mumbled into Viktor’s collarbone when he crawled onto the bed, chastely keeping his distance for the moment.


	8. Pillow talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mild/ mention of body dysmorphia

“I like you too, starlight.” Viktor felt himself blush-- he felt like a stupid teenager in a romance movie, not someone approaching their mid-twenties while writing a thesis. Being this close to Yuuri was comforting--- Viktor could see Yuuri’s head of fark hair move the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his soft cheeks radiating through his shirt.

“Oh my god,” Yuuri groaned after ten minutes of blissful, comforting silence. Viktor only hummed an inquistive noise as Yuuri twisted, grabbing one of his many pillows and smacking it against his face. “I can’t believe just did that. I’m going to die.” He moaned into the pillow.

Viktor laughed. “Was it that bad?”

“We haven’t even kissed and then my idol just--- just…” Yuuri pressed the pillow harder against his face and kicked his feet.

“Wait---” Viktor rested a hand on Yuuri’s wrist. “We have kissed.”

Yuuri peeped out from behind the pillow, his glasses fogged up from the emotional pillow smothering. “We did?”

“The night you stayed over at my apartment--- you had your contest with Sara, and then you got pretty drunk--oh. Oh no.”

Yuuri blushed a sweet shade of red.

“You don’t remember. Of course. You were drunk.” Viktor felt himself turn into a tomato. “Blyad. This isn’t a very good start to a relationship.” Viktor swallowed nervously, scooting to the edge of the bed.

“No! I mean, it’s okay! I don’t mind!” Yuuri dropped the pillow and it flopped to the floor.   
Viktor, on some level, knew Yuuri didn’t mind. After all, Yuuri had been the one to kiss him. But the consent and grounding behind the kiss felt a little more unstable at this revelation.

“You do really need to eat.” Viktor grabbed the plastic bag of takeout from the beside table-- it smelled like spice and peanut sauce.

“We can try a do-over?” Yuuri’s voice was small, his fingers fidgeting with his bedsheets. He twisted it into a knot between his fingers.

“Of the kiss?” Viktor paused in the middle of unwrapping a plastic fork for Yuuri.  
He only nodded, a cute, shy gesture.

To really do it over, Yuuri would have to be the one to grab Viktor by the collar and pull him down onto the bed.

Somehow, Viktor knew that wasn’t happening.

But maybe this was even better.

Yuuri’s hand was warm on Viktor’s thigh as he leaned over-- his eyes closed, distracting Viktor for a second on how gorgeous he was. Their lips brushed lightly, before Viktor remembered himself and moved forward, catching Yuuri’s bottom lips between his teeth. Yuuri gasped, and Viktor wanted to chase after him for more…but he had already rushed things that night.

“Take a bite,” Viktor scooped up a forkful of pad thai.

Yuuri flushed, starstruck. “I can feed myself.” His voice was soft and shy and Viktor could see the tremble in his hands and hear it in his voice too.

“Not very well, if it’s been long enough that you faint at practice.” Viktor pouted, inwardly preening at Yuuri’s instant relenting. 

“There’s a chance the head of the Mariinsky ballet will come to see my studio’s show next week.” Yuuri ate quickly, taking the fork from Viktor after the third bite.

“You can’t dance if you’re unconscious.” Viktor frowned.

“I won’t be. I just have to be good. Perfect.” Yuuri’s eyes burned with a passion and focus Viktor primarily saw when Madam Baranovskaya had Yuuri demonstrate final techniques to the class.

“You make me worry. Like I should follow you to that studio and make sure you eat.” Viktor flushed when he realized that Yuuri had indeed, bought a meal for him.

“It wouldn’t be very fun. We’re just running through the choreography for eight hours.” Yuuri pulled his takeout from the bag on Viktor’s lap onto his own. It still sounded nicer than sitting alone in his apartment, trying to find the energy to work on his thesis.

“Maybe I could learn through osmosis,” Viktor chuckled to himself. Yuuri blinked, looking lost at the strange word. “Through watching you.”

“You’re doing fine in class.” Yuuri sighed, poking at his food with the fork. 

“Am I graceful?” Viktor quirked an eyebrow and Yuuri choked on a noodle. He was quiet for too long, but instead of feeling offended, Viktor found himself laughing.

“Better than before! You… you just…”

Viktor wiped a tear from his eye. “Hmm?”

“You need to own your body.” Yuuri avoid looking at him, licking the peanut sauce off of his bottom lip. Viktor couldn’t look away.

“I live in it, don’t I?” Viktor tried to find a meaning behind it in Yuuri’s mannerisms, but he didn’t betray anything but nerves.

“You try to be smaller than you are.” Yuuri said under his breath, nearly too quickly for Viktor to catch. “Your shoulders are always a little bit forward, and you keep your arms straight, but you don’t try to lengthen them.”

“I’m big enough already,” Viktor laughed, but instead of humor, he felt...awful. “I don’t need to take up any more space.”

“You should, though,” Yuuri was curling around himself, oddly enough, his feathery hair falling into his eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

Viktor let Yuuri’s words hang in the air for a moment, his heart beating too fast. He wasn’t sure how he felt- good and bad all at once. Strange.

“Are you thirsty? Tea? I think we have tea. Coffee.” Yuuri rambled, sliding off the bed and onto the floor, pulling his pants back up to their proper place on his lips and retreating toward the kitchen in the main room of the apartment. 

Metal clanged as Yuuri shifted through pots and pans. Viktor sat on Yuuri’s bed, alone before going out to the kitchen just as the kettle started to whistle. Viktor stood on the cheap laminate floor, imagining a string pulling him up from his center, pushing his shoulders back slightly.

At his full height, with proper posture, Yuuri could tuck his head perfectly under Viktor’s chin. Viktor felt himself grow warmer at that idea, even as Yuuri stood on tip-toe, shuffling through a cabinet of tea and bags of coffee grounds.

“Green or bl---” Yuuri flushed when Viktor wrapped himself around him from the back, Viktor’s hands resting on Yuuri’s small waist.

“Thank you.”


	9. Opening Night

Viktor ended the night after a cup of tea and tucking Yuuri into bed, letting himself out the front door feeling like he was walking three feet off the ground. Yuuri had texted him the address of the studio he was working at. Viktor had class the next day, but Viktor’s cheesiest dreams came true when Yuuri wished him good morning and later, goodnight. They talked throughout the day--- Yuuri preferred text over phone calls-- even through lecture. Yuuri made sure to deliver pictures of lunch, and a selfie of him with Sara that Viktor immediately saved to his camera roll.

When Viktor managed to step into the studio, he found himself pushing his shoulders back and standing taller, just on the off chance Yuuri would look over. There were at least ten other people, and Yuuri was in a far corner, stepping and moving with a ballerina, calculated steps taken until his hands took her waist and he lifted her far into the air.

Viktor felt instantly too hot, regretting his button up shirt instantly , pulling at the collar. Yuuri was only about half an inch taller than the ballerina when not on pointe, but when he lifted her he created height and beauty that left Viktor staring.

He watched them practice another twenty times before they took a break, Yuuri going to the wall to grab his water bottle from the floor. His eyes widened when he noticed Viktor, a cute blush reddening his cheeks before he smiled.

Viktor would die for him.

“Viktor!” Yuuri crossed the room with enough grace he looked like he was sliding on ice. “Um, hi!”

“I brought lunch…” Viktor stuttered, crumpling the paper bag in his hands. “Is that okay?” He felt very, very gay at that moment-- Yuuri was in dance tights again, with a long pale blue knit shirt-- a bit nicer than what he wore to class. But Viktor knew why. The Mariinsky ballet could be lurking at any moment.

“I mean.. Hi… what you were doing… was amazing!” Viktor added. “Do you have time for lunch?”

“The lifts? It’s easy. Here-- go into fourth--” Viktor moved his feet, his heart leaping into his throat as Yuuri’s arms went around his waist. “Lift your leg--- and--”

Viktor swooned as his feet left the floor, Yuuri’s hands on his thighs. Yuuri only held him for a few seconds, but Viktor struggled to stand straight, weak-kneed at the thought of Yuuri carrying like that in less appropriate settings.

“How--- wow… Wow…” Viktor pressed a hand to his heart.

“I’m used to people taller than me.” Yuuri shrugged awkwardly. Viktor felt like he would die, his heart bursting and melting into concentrated love for Yuuri.

“Amazing. Beautiful. Wow.” Viktor babbled as Yuuri grabbed his gear bag and pulled his sneakers from it.

“You like lifts?” Yuuri smiled. Understatement of the century. “I can ask Madam Baranovskaya if we can do one in class.”

“You’re so strong, Yuuri.” 

“Only just enough. I’m hungry too.”

Viktor immediately tore open the bag-- two greek salads, hopefully with enough protein to keep Yuuri going. They sat in a corner of the studio together, close enough that their knees brushed.  
“ Do you have time for dinner tonight?” Viktor got distracted easily-- watching Yuuri eat was fun! He loved food, and made cute faces when he ate something delicious. 

“It’s opening night,” Yuuri chewed thoughtfully. “You should come.”

“Oh-- I wouldn’t want to make you nervous--”

“I’m always nervous.” Yuuri retorted. “We get comp tickets anyway. I can put your name at will-call.” Yuuri stared at his salad rather than Viktor.

“I’d love to.” Viktor breathed, his own salad forgotten.  
~

Viktor wore a suit with a long wool coat-- just in case his reaction to Yuuri’s dancing got a little...physical.

He ended up in the front row, his heart in his throat when he realized Lilia was there, along with three other severe-looking adults. One of which was Yakov.

Viktor sunk low in his seat, keeping his eyes on the stage. Yuuri was one of three danseurs, and the only non-European of the entire troupe. He did most of the lifting and dipping, even tossing a prima into the air in a move that made Viktor gasp.

If the Mariinsky didn’t beg for Yuuri---they’d be the most idiotic group in the world. Viktor could feel the longing, the ache of heartbreak and the story told through dance. Viktor didn’t look away the entire show, watching Yuuri until the lights dimmed and he disappeared, swathed in darkness.

The cellophane wrapping of the flowers Viktor bought for Yuuri crinkled in his fingers as he waited. As he expected, the moment he appeared from backstage, still out of breath and forehead dewy with sweat, Lilia swooped down upon him. Yuuri smiled politely, his voice quiet and even with slow, practiced Russian. 

It would have felt wrong if Viktor wasn’t so intrigued by seeing Yuuri’s lips form around the words. He’d gotten so used to conversing in English for Yuuri’s benefit that he’d forgotten that Yuuri could even speak Russian.

Yakov was not the angry, yelling man Viktor remembered him as. He stood behind Lilia, looking unenthused but not angry, patting Yuuri strongly on the back. Viktor felt a flare of anger at it-- Yuuri’s eyes widened momentarily before flitting back to Lilia’s nose. Yuuri was grasping at his own wrists, tightly enough that his skin was white under his own grip.

Yuuri bowed, wishing them farewells, and Viktor found it terribly endearing. He was on the heels of his former coach, and Yuuri fell into him.

“Oh my god, that was awful.” Yuuri mumbled into the lapel of Viktor’s coat, his face pressed into the hockey player’s chest. 

“You were amazing.” Viktor righted Yuuri, placing the bouquet in his arms. Yuuri cradled them, his eyes sparkling.

“Oh no,” Viktor panicked. “Don’t cry. You did amazing. The Mariinsky is going to be knocking down your door.”

“No-- s’ not---” Yuuri sniffled, tears spilling generously down his soft cheeks. “I just-- I really--”

“Yuuuuuri! My sweet bab!” Someone much closer to his height swept Yuuri up in their arms, daring to do what Viktor desperately wanted to do. “You slayed it! I cried like five times!”

Yuuri sniffled-- he was not a pretty crier, but Viktor felt the incredible urge to hug him close anyway. 

“Phichit… your timing sucks..” Yuuri sniffled, taking the tissue the man pressed to his nose.

“What do you mean? I don’t see anyone important any-- oh.” 

Viktor ended up staring directly into the grey eyes of Yuuri’s roommate and best friend.

“It’s hockey boy.” Phichit gasped. “Oh honey. You broke the rule.”


	10. something is not right with this picture

“He won’t answer my calls or my texts, Mila,” Viktor stared into his fourth cappucino of the day. Yuuri still hadn’t shown up to work. 

“Did you fight?” Mila nibbled on another cookie-- Viktor way paying, so she was indulging in any way possible.

“No. I mean, I did. With his room mate? But not really. He just… he told me that Yuuri’s idolized me since he was little.”

“Wow. That’s super weird.”

“Mila--” Viktor growled. “You’re not-- oh.”

Mila quirked an eyebrow. “Hmmm?”

“He thinks that I think he’s weird.” Viktor looked like the knowledge of the universe had been bestowed upon him.

“You don’t feel weird that your crush idolizes you?” Mila tapped her fingers on the table. “For being someone you won’t even talk about with your BEST friend?”

“It’s not who I am anymore.” Viktor muttered

“But what if Yuuri wants you to be?”

Viktor faltered. “I don’t like it when you play devil's advocate, Mila.”

“I’m just trying to make sure you understand what you feel, since you seem so stuck on being lonely and sad all the time.” Mila sighed, 

Viktor stood up, their coffee cups and silverware clattering. “I have to go.”

“Go get him tiger!” Mila whooped, earning a few sour looks from other patrons of the cafe.

~

Viktor rang Yuuri’s doorbell, winding his keychain lanyard around his hand. His ears perked at the sound of footsteps and his heart beat a mile a minute when the door handle turned.

Yuuri opened the door, peeking from behind it.

“Yuuri!” Viktor gasped, reaching out the same time Yuuri went to push the door closed. It bounced back, smacking Yuuri in the head.

“Ow,” Yuuri said.

“Shit,” Viktor said.

“I’m so sorry!” Viktor reached through the open doorway as Yuuri held his head. “Are you okay? This stuff always happens to me. I’m sorry.”

Unexpectedly, Yuuri laughed softly. 

Viktor stood in the doorway, waiting. Only slightly confused.

“It does… our first class…” Yuuri smiled sheepishly. “You’re not graceful at all. Is that why you quit?”

Viktor knew he meant skating. “Yes… I.. I was just becoming someone I didn’t recognize. I couldn’t learn my new body… and well…”

Yuuri dropped one hand to the side. He looked like a mess-- eyes puddy, nose pink, a large tshirt hanging to his knees and off his shoulder.

“I understand… kind of.” Yuuri mumbled, letting the door swing open. 

An invitation.

~

Viktor warmed up with a cup of tea on Yuuri’s couch, and Yuuri soon warmed back up to Viktor. By the end of the night Yuuri’s leg pressed against Viktor’s, and they had exhausted any energy for conversation.

“I should go.” Viktor hummed, rather enjoying Yuuri’s head against his shoulder.

“Maybe,” Yuuri replied just as warmly. 

Viktor’s eyes drifted around the apartment, trying to place the creaking sound coming from a corner of the stucco ceiling. 

“Or you could--”

Yuuri’s words were drowned out by the rush of water and the crash of a bathtub falling through the ceiling.

Luckily, any epithets were also drowned out by the spray of lukewarm water as the white porcelain crushing Yuuri and Phichit’s kitchen. Viktor felt his clothes stick to him as they were doused with a wave of water, his bangs pasted over his eyes.

“Blyad! Are you alright?” Viktor hugged Yuuri, even though he had quite literally jumped into his lap.

“Y-y-yeah.” Yuuri chattered, his ink black hair slick against his forehead. “I...How?”

“Call your landlord?” Viktor didn’t move from the couch.

“Yuuri! I’m home-- oh my god.” Phichit left the door open behind him. 

“Okaeri, Phichit.” Yuuri replied flatly from the couch. “We need to call the landlord.”

“The police! Call the police! We need the popo!” Phichit stammered, dropping his messenger bag off his shoulder.

“What?” Yuuri blinked, clearly in shock.

“There’s someone IN the tub, Yuuri!” 

“Are they dead?” Yuuri blinked.

“YOU can find out that!” Phichit stepped back into the doorway. “Oh man, I’m not drunk or awake enough for this.”


	11. The Bed

“I can’t believe my entire apartment is a crime scene,” Yuuri groaned, sitting on the outside stairs with his head in his hands and a blanket from a police car wrapped around his shoulders.

Viktor patted Yuuri’s back lightly with a wry smile. “It could be worse?”

“Worse? I have performances the next three nights, then I have to grade papers and Sara and I have to write the final exam!” Yuuri squawked. “It would’ve been so much better if this happened next week…” He moaned.

“Things will work out. I promise.” Viktor said slowly.

“Work out? My kitchen has a bathtub in it! I can’t afford anything other than this shitty apartment which I’m not even allowed to be in!” Yuuri’s voice rose, his eyes sparkling with tears.

“You could stay with me.” Viktor answered simply. Yuuri just stared, speechless.

“You and Phichit, of course. If he doesn’t mind Makkachin, that is.”

“He likes dogs,” Yuuri said blankly. “As long as she won’t eat Shakira, Beyonce and Gaga.”

“Pardon?” Viktor choked.

“The hamsters.” Yuuri sighed. He slumped into Viktor, his soft cheek laying against the Russian’s shoulder.

It took several hours, but the investigators eventually allowed Yuuri and Phichit inside long enough to gather belongings. Viktor helped carry suitcases out while Phichit cooed at his pop-star hamsters soothingly.

Viktor drove them to his apartment, shielding Phichit from Makkachin’s welcome body-slam. Yuuri sunk to the floor, closing his eyes as Makkachin lavished him with kisses. His tension slowly melted away the longer Makkachin loved on him, which in turn put Viktor at ease.

He immediately set to work: He pulled out the air mattress he kept when Chris and Matthieu visited,pulling out his fluffiest towels for his unexpected guests. He poured wine while Yuuri showered-- partially to have an excuse as to why his cheeks were flushed just at the idea of Yuuri in his bathroom.

It didn’t help that when Yuuri came out dressed in his pajamas-- baggy shorts and a flowy tank top, low cut and a delicious frame to his fit body.

“I can’t believe I didn’t grab any actual shirts,” Yuuri whimpered after padding into the living room, where Phichit was already sprawled out on the inflated air matress.

‘You can borrow--” Viktor and Phichit spoke in unison, before Phichit snapped his mouth shut, his perfect eyebrows rising impishly.

“I’m sure I have something.” Viktor left the kitchen, pulling several options from his closet and laying them on his bed for Yuuri.

“This is okay,” Yuuri sighed, pulling the most dangerous option off the bed and over his head. Viktor felt his knees weaken at the sight of his not-so-minor-crush wearing last season’s hockey jersey, a deep maroon with NIKIFOROV printed in white across the back. A shirt on Viktor, it became more like a dress on Yuuri, oversized and hanging off his shoulder, the sleeves long enough to brush his fingertips.

The most tantalizing part was the length-- if Viktor didn’t know better, it looked like Yuuri was naked, his long legs and thick thighs bare under the jersey.

“What’s wrong? I can change--” Yuuri fidgeted under Viktor’s too-long, too-quiet gaze.

“No. Please don’t.” Viktor breathed, pressing his hand to his mouth. Yuuri flushed, picking at the hem of the shirt. “Can I kiss you?” 

Yuuri’s eyes fluttered upward, his cheeks beautifully pink. “I...Okay. Yeah.”

Viktor closed the distance between them, taking his lips softly in his. The noise that escaped Yuuri nearly killed Viktor.   
But the moment didn’t last.

 

Phichit ‘whooped’ from the living room, bursting into applause.

Yuuri’s mouth twisted with momentarily anger, his eyes narrowing before he accessed an inner peace-- at least outwardly.

“You can sleep on the floor, Peach!” He called out in reply to Phichit’s teasing.

“Worth it!” Phichit called back.

Yuuri took a glass of red wine from Viktor willingly, the three of them settling on the couch to a movie and takeout after a trying and long evening. Viktor caught himself watching Yuuri more than the movie on the screen in front of him. He caught himself taking in how Yuuri sat with his knees curled up to his chest-- how his toes curl, wrapped with numerous bandaids and feet mottled with bruises. Viktor wanted to kiss each injury away.  
He wanted Yuuri to trust him more-- beyond a stupid evening together with weak boundaries, beyond their thighs touching on his couch. A date with less tears and worn nerves and more touches and soft sighs.

The first wine bottle went quickly between them, and Viktor opened another one-- usually reserved for the few times his friends visited. The vodka went untouched. Viktor would feel like a bad Russian, except he knew he was being a good man. He wasn’t going to get Yuuri drunk. He wouldn’t.

What Yuuri wanted to do, however, was an entirely different matter altogether. He drank his glass and finished off Phichits, melting into Viktor further and further as the night wore on.

By half past ten, Yuuri was in Viktor’s lap, his head resting on his shoulder and sound asleep.

Viktor lifted Yuuri gently in his arms, trying his best not to disturb him as he laid him down on the air mattress. He smiled-- Yuuri slack-jawed and drooling and still impossibly beautiful.

“Goodnight, sleeping beauty,” Viktor hummed, stepping back just enough. Just enough that Makkachin hopped from the couch onto the mattress, announcing her arrival with a loud POP!

“Five more minutes,” Yuuri mumbled as the mattress deflated underneath him, Makkachin’s tail beating a happy pattern onto the floor.

“Blyad--” Viktor hissed. He only had his own bed and the couch-- which was not nearly big enough for Yuuri and Phichit to share comfortably. “Makkachin! I’m so sorry--- I don’t know what we’ll do--”  
“I can sleep on the couch no problem.” Phichit shrugged. “Good luck figuring out what Yuuri wants though. He sleeps like the dead and takes like ten minutes to become human again.”

“I only have my bed--- though I wonder if I have enough sheets and I can take the floor--”

Viktor’s thought process was interrupted by Phichit’s scoffing. “I know your secrets, Nikiforov. If you wake up sleeping on the floor your sex life is going to end up way sadder than friend hand jobs.”

Viktor felt instantly too warm. “But I’m not sure if Yuuri would be okay--”

“He’s okay with it. Very, very okay with it.” Phichit quirked an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure he’s been okay with it since he hit puberty.”

“Vicchaaannn,” Yuuri cooed from the bed, laughing as Makkachin licked at his cheeks. Viktor panicked, slowly kneeling and shooing his poodle away.

“Yuuri?”

“Mmm?” Yuuri replied drowsily, his eyes still closed.

“This won’t be good for your back. Do you want to share my bed?”

Yuuri hummed something that sounded positive, snuggling into Viktor’s arms when he slid them around the sleeping danseur. Phichit was right-- he slept soundly through the transfer to Viktor’s bed. He sighed happily when he sunk into the mattress, his fingers hooking into the buttons of Viktor’s night shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ sorry I wanted to write 'there was only one bed!' trope


	12. The Meeting

Viktor barely slept, his heart beating too fast at Yuur’s subconscious touch and the utter devotion he had to practice, focusing on not thinking about how pretty Yuuri was, how Yuuri was wearing his clothing and laying in his bed.

Yuuri cuddled. He gravitated toward warmth and clung to it. He also drooled in his sleep, a fact Viktor committed to memory. If he thought logically, it was gross, but the awful side of him thought it was adorable. 

Yuuri also slept like the dead. He was the last one to awake, Makkachin taking Viktor’s place as he brewed a pot of coffee and did his best to be a good host to Phichit. He was only awoken by his phone ringing on the night stand, Madam Lilia’s ringtone a blaring fire alarm.

Viktor watched Yuuri jolt upwards, scrambling for the phone and nearly sliding off the bed in the process. Makkachin lifted her head, watching Yuuri as he answered the phone-- first in Japanese, then Russian. Yuuri instantly sat up straight, nodding and bowing on the phone, his hand finding Makkachin’s head and scratching behind her ears.

“Yes. I’ll be there. Thank you.” Yuuri looked pale, this teeth worrying his bottom lip as he took the phone from his ear and staring blankly at it in his hand.

“Everything okay?” Phichit asked from the living room.

“I… I have a meeting with Madam Baranovskaya and Yakov Feltsman and a representative of the Mariinsky.” Yuuri gulped, his hands shaking. Phichit jumped up with a loud ‘whoohoo!’.

“I don’t--- I don’t have anything to wear. I only brought practice clothes.” Yuuri pulled his hands through his hair, his eyes wide with worry.

“We can ask the police to let us in. I don’t know if your suit is wet or not. Maybe we can go to a store, and we can tuck the tags in…”

Viktor winced at the idea.

“I have to get ready.” Yuuri jolted up, pausing to smooth his hair down. “It’s in two hours.”

“Two hours?” Phichit’s voice rose before he clapped his hands over his mouth. “Oop. I know. Not helping.”

Viktor watched Yuuri pull on a fresh pair of socks.

“I have sponsorship money from a local clothing company that’s going to waste.” Viktor cleared his throat, and Yuuri froze.

“I can’t--”

“Please. It’s the least I could do. You’ve kept me from failing Ballet and being kicked off the team.” Viktor tried his best puppy-eyes. Yuuri looked unphazed, before he looked toward Phichit.

“O-okay.”  
\---

Viktor called a cab after finding the paperwork he was given after completing the modeling stunt. He secretly hoped that they had Yuuri’s size-- and he also hoped that Yuuri couldn’t read Russian that well.

It was high-end store in the heart of St. Petersburg. Everything was black and chrome and instead of racks there were mannequins. Yuuri immediately stifffened, still in his leggings and hockey jersey from that morning, nursing a cappucino from the stand next to Viktor’s building.

“My friend has an interview with the Mariinsky. I want to do him the best possible.” Viktor spoke to the salesman as another took Yuuri’s measurements. They set Yuuri up in a black velvet lined dressing room, Yuuri’s wide brown eyes giving him the look of a lost puppy.

When Yuuri stepped out Viktor felt the gayest he had ever been. The black trousers hugged Yuuri perfectly, showing off his excellent ass and perfect thighs. The black button up shirt was rolled up to his elbows and fit his shoulders perfectly. Viktor requested black loafers and merino wool socks, tucking his credit card into the papers of his contract. Thankfully this place was too good for price tags, because Viktor knew that the outfit cost at least two semester’s worth of tuition. And it was worth every cent.

\--  
“Can you come with me?” Yuuri hesiated as their cab rolled to a stop outside of the building that housed Lilia’s office on campus. Phichit had to go to his own class, leaving Viktor and Yuuri alone on the ride over. Viktor hadn’t been able to tea courser his eyes away from Yuuri-- his thighs or the nervous rhythm his feet tapped out on the floor.

“Oh-- of course.” Viktor felt his smile widen at the invitation. He thought everything was over, but here he was, welcomed back into Yuuri’s life easily. He watched Yuuri as they walked down the quad-- watched him so closely that he didn’t notice his toe catch in a loose brick until he was already falling.  
Yuuri caught him, a soft smile on his lips and a hand pressed against Viktor’s rapidly beating heart. “I knew you’d do that.” He sounded amused, Viktor’s heart beating even faster as Yuuri moved to right him on his feet. “For someone who spends their life on slippery ice, you’re not very graceful.”

The moment lasted longer than it should have, Yuuri looking up at Viktor and Viktor staring back. Then Yuuri broke away, speed-walking to the building and leaving Viktor behind.

“Wait!” Viktor caught up as Yuuri pulled open one of the heavy oak doors. He dug in his pockets, pulling out a pot of lip balm. Yuuri waited, though the way his brow creased Viktor could tell he was impatient.

Viktor unscrewed the top, dipping his finger into the balm and smoothing it over Yuuri’s bottom lip.  
“Good luck in there.” Viktor breathed, taking a small amount of pleasure in how Yuuri blushed, the pink on his cheeks spreading to his nose and the tips of his ears. Hopefully Lilia would take it as exertion and not embarrassment-- though Viktor knew that Lilia knew her students well. Viktor hung back in the hallway, watching Yuuri disappear into her office.   
The meeting took an excruciating hour, Viktor spending most of the time in a student lounge playing on his phone. He only stood up when he heard a familiar voice-- rushed thank yous and farewells leaking through open doors. Viktor hung back even at Yuuri’s bright eyes and ramrod straight posture. He waited until Yuuri grabbed him by the front of his shirt, dragging him into a gender-neutral bathroom and locking the door before Viktor’s back hit it, Yuuri’s mouth hungrily taking Viktor’s in a passionate kiss.

A nervous laugh bubbled up from Viktor’s chest, but he didn’t dare say a word, tasting his lip balm off Yuuri’s lips mixed with something entirely Yuuri. Yuuri was on his toes, his hands on Viktor’s chest and teeth grazing his bottom lip before, without warning, Yuuri went limp, burying his face in Viktor’s chest and squeezing him tightly.

“Good news?” Viktor asked, trying to catch his breath and reasonable thought.

“The Mariinsky wants me,” Yuuri’s voice vibrated in Viktor’s chest. He caught the tremble in Yuuri’s voice, knowing what it meant even before he felt the wetness seep into the fabric of his shirt. “I’m going to dance for the Mariinsky!”

“Amazing.” Viktor smiled, though his heart dropped a little in his chest. He knew the ballet school did international tours, the dancers spent hours and hours training to reach their level of elite standing. 

Suddenly, Yuuri was way out of Viktor’s league. A world-class ballet danseur for a failed ice skater and mediocre college hockey player. Viktor had already known this-- Yuuri was gorgeous and perfect and graceful on his feet, all the things he was not. But now it was confirmed, and Viktor knew he would be left behind.

“You’re amazing. I knew it all along.” Viktor distracted himself with words, cupping Yuuri’s face in his hands and lifting it upward. He wiped tears away from his cheeks as Yuuri smiled up at him, overwhelmed by his dream finally coming true.

“I love you, Viktor.” Yuuri breathed, a fresh stream of tears spilling over his cheeks, his skin burning warmer.

Viktor was stunned a second too long, and Yuuri pulled back before Viktor could find the words to reply.

“I’ve loved you since the moment I first saw you.” Viktor’s voice was a little too loud, but Yuuri’s downcast eyes were too far away.

“Let’s go celebrate?” Viktor offered when the silence between them went on for too long. Yuuri nodded, wetting a paper towel and dabbing at his face before steeling himself to step back into the hallway.

 

“Vitya.” Yakov’s voice bit out the second Viktor stepped out of the bathroom after Yuuri.  
Blood ran cold in Viktors veins. They had been caught.


	13. Office

“Don’t call me Vitya.” Viktor replied automatically,his eyes fixed past Yakov , down the empty hallway.

“Katsuki. In my office.” Yakov said instead, and Yuuri obeyed immediately. Viktor felt foolish--he thought for a split second that Yuuri would refuse, be on Viktor’s side. But what side did Viktor have? He hadn’t told anyone what had happened, and Yuuri only knew what the press did.

Viktor followed Yuuri-- Yakov’s office smelled the same as the one at Yubilenny did all those years ago.

“University protocol would be to fire and expel any parties involved in such gross violation of the ethics code.” Yakov spoke gruffly. Viktor looked toward Yuuri, who stood perfectly tall-- and trembled. “I, however, have the unfortunate luck to know both of you well.”

Viktor slumped into a chair, while Yuuri stood, his hands folded in front of him. It reminded Viktor of other skaters in his past, ones who started under Yakov after Viktor had won his third gold.

“I came onto him. It’s not his fault.” Viktor replied, Yuuri jolting at Viktor’s statement-- and outright bravery.

“I didn’t ask for any input, boy.” Yakov barked. “You know, we’re only here because I lost a bet. Lilia won him. If I had my way, Katsuki would have skated three years for me already.” Yakov leaned over his desk. “Three years, and he would’ve won me more medals and less strife than I ever earned from raising you.”

“How dare you.. He’s not a piece of meat.” Viktor leaned in as well, his mouth twisted into a snarl.

“I---” Yuuri interjected, and Viktor waved him off. 

“That’s all anyone is to you, is it? A medal mill? Collect some pretty boys and throw them away when they’re worn out?”

Yakov had a good poker face. He leaned back, folding his hands on his desk.

“Is that what you think I am?” Yuuri’s voice was flat, wavering a bit. Viktor looked up, lost at the fire in Yuuri’s eyes. “Some weak pretty boy? Someone you have to pick up and protect?”

Viktor opened his mouth, his heart dropping into his stomach. “I--it’s not--”

“I don’t need you to defend me. Or to speak for me. You may be ten kilos heavier and taller than me, but I don’t need your help. I’m a man, too. Even if you don’t s--see me as one.”

“Katsuki.” Yakov spoke, and Yuuri’s head snapped up, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “Lilia has reserved Teracotta Red for your celebration dinner.”

Yuuri swallowed nervously. “But-- if I’m fired...”

“Viktor was let in on a favor. He will be withdrawn from the course.” Yakov sighed. 

“Wait-- If I fail I’ll get kicked off the team!” Viktor bit out, his voice too loud and too harsh, making Yuuri jump. 

“Hockey was never in your future. No medical school looks for it in your papers.” Yakov continued to speak calmly. “There’s a seat for you at dinner, as always, Vitya.”


End file.
